Yang woke to cold air filling his lungs. Autumn had settled over the forest with a chill that warned of harsher days ahead. The small stone cave that had been his home for the past six months felt colder each morning now.
Beside him lay two pieces of carefully selected fruit, green colour with thick skin and palm-sized. He had gathered it yesterday after his Inner instinct had confirmed they were safe. He picked them up along with the spear that now never left his side, then crawled out of the cave into the gray dawn light.
The forest was peaceful at this hour, most creatures just beginning to stir. Yang moved through the familiar path to the creek with practiced ease, his feet finding the route automatically after hundreds of trips. The journey that had once exhausted him now barely registered as effort.
At the water's edge, Yang knelt and drank deeply from the cold spring. The chill made his teeth ache, but the water was clean and pure. He splashed his face, wiping away the grime of sleep, then took handfuls of water to clean his arms and neck.
Yang rinsed both fruits in the cold water, then settled himself on a smooth rock nearby. He broke open the thick skin of the first fruit, revealing pale flesh inside that was sweet and filling. This was one of the better foods he'd found in the forest, and substantial enough to quiet his hunger for hours.
For once, he ate slowly. Calmly. Without the desperate edge that had marked his first weeks of survival.
Six months.
Half a year since that terrible night.
Half a year since Grandpa Chen had died to give him a chance to live.
The first weeks had been nearly unbearable, though Yang hadn't had the strength to properly grieve. Every day began the moment dawn light touched the cave entrance and ended only when exhaustion claimed him completely. There was no time for tears, and no energy for mourning. Survival consumed his every thought.
He'd lived on those potato like root vegetables at first, the ones his instinct had guided him to find. He'd rationed them carefully, eating only one per day, but by the end of the second week they were gone. After that, hunger became his constant companion, a gnawing presence that never truly went away no matter what he managed to find.
Some days he found nothing at all and went to sleep with an empty stomach that cramped and twisted through the night. Other days he'd discover plants that looked perfectly edible, berries or roots or leaves that seemed safe, only to have that sharp internal warning slam into him the moment he reached for them. Poisonous. Dangerous. Don't eat.
Yang finished the first fruit and started on the second, his thoughts drifting through memories of those early desperate weeks. He'd ventured deeper into the forest out of necessity, driven by hunger to explore areas he would have been too frightened to approach otherwise. And as he pushed further from his cave, the inner instinct had changed.
The instinct that warned him of danger became clearer. More precise. At first it had been just a vague sense of terror, and an undefined feeling that made him freeze or turn away. But gradually, as weeks turned into months, Yang learned to interpret its signals with greater accuracy.
Sometimes the warning felt like a gentle pull, steering him toward food or water. Other times it was sharp and urgent, screaming danger so loudly in his mind that he would drop everything and run. He'd climbed trees more than once to escape threats he never actually saw, his instinct driving him upward while something large moved through the undergrowth below. One terrifying night he'd spent stuck on the branches because the warning wouldn't fade, and he'd seen something massive passing beneath his perch in the darkness.
But the most fascinating thing Yang had discovered was that the guiding presence itself seemed to be learning. Adapting. In the beginning, it could only warn him when danger was immediate, when poisonous food was already in his hand or a predator was nearly upon him. Now it sometimes warned him before he even saw the threat, giving him precious seconds to prepare or hide. It was as if whatever protected him was becoming more aware, and understanding him more clearly as the months passed.
Yang swallowed the last bite of fruit and stood, brushing bits of rind from his crude clothing. He'd realized early on that he couldn't survive on plants alone. There were days when the only thing in his stomach was chewed leaves, bitter and unsatisfying, consumed just to quiet the screaming hunger long enough to think. Those desperate days had pushed him to learn hunting and trapping, skills Grandpa had mentioned but never taught him in detail.
His first attempts at toolmaking had been pathetic. Yang smiled slightly at the memory of those early failures. He'd spent an entire day trying to sharpen a piece of stone against another rock, achieving nothing but bloody fingers and a pile of useless chips. But eventually, through trial and error that cost him countless hours, he'd managed to create a serviceable stone knife. Then a crude axe, a rock lashed to a wooden handle with cords he'd woven from bark and plant fibers.
The cord-making itself had been a nightmare of frustration. Yang had thrown more than one failed attempt into the fire, watching weeks of work burn while he fought back tears of rage and helplessness. But he'd kept trying because the alternative was death, and he refused to let Grandpa's sacrifice be for nothing.
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With tools came progress. Yang had lined the cave floor with dried grass and leaves for warmth. He'd crafted simple footwear from bark and hide, stuffing them with dried grass for insulation. Each small improvement made survival slightly less impossible.
His first major weapon was a spear, a straight shaft with a sharpened stone tip lashed securely to the end. He'd been so proud of it when he'd finished, had imagined himself hunting large game like the men from the village used to do. But that spear remained unused for hunting big animals because his instinct helped him avoid the large predators that roamed the forest and he was too terrified at the idea of intentionally looking for one. The few times he'd encountered signs of wolves or bears, that internal warning had screamed at him to hide, to climb, or to run, and Yang had learned to obey without question.
Instead, he'd focused on traps. Small snares and deadfalls that could catch foxes, rabbits, and rodents while he was elsewhere. The first time he'd found a rabbit in one of his traps, Yang had nearly wept with relief and triumph. Real meat. Protein his body desperately needed.
He'd roasted all the meat thoroughly, worried about getting parasites and diseases from eating raw flesh.
He used everything from his catches. Bones became tools or were cracked open for the marrow inside. Sinew became stronger cord for his projects. And the furs he'd scraped and dried and eventually sewed together into layered clothing that kept the autumn chill at bay now.
Yang had discovered a creek deeper in the forest. The creek eventually joined a larger stream, and along its banks he'd found deposits of thick gray mud that dried hard in the sun. Experimentation had taught him how to shape the clay into crude pots and bowls, and how to fire them in his campfire until they became solid enough to hold water without breaking.
Those pots had changed everything. Suddenly he could store water in the cave, could make soups and simple stews using herbs he'd tested and deemed safe.
He could save food for days when hunting and gathering yielded nothing. The pots were ugly and rough, many had cracked or broken during firing, but the ones that survived were treasures beyond price.
There had been one morning, a few months ago, when Yang had woken to the instinct screaming in his mind before his eyes even opened. He'd grabbed his axe from where it lay beside him and found a large snake coiled just an arm's length away from where he'd been sleeping. Yang had moved without thinking, bringing the axe down in a strike that severed the snake's head from its body.
His hands had shaken for an hour afterward, but that snake had provided meat for several days. He'd roasted some and made soup with the rest, using every scrap of flesh. The skin he'd dried and kept, thinking it might be useful somehow.
Yang looked down at the spring now, this spring that had kept him alive through the most desperate time of his life. The water bubbled up clear and cold, just as it had that first day when he'd stumbled upon it half-dead with thirst.
This was his last morning here.
He was drinking from the spring instead of the stored water in his cave because today, there was no stored water in that cave. No more cave at all, at least not as his home.
Yang had found a better shelter. Following the creek past the clay deposits had led him to discover where it fed into a proper river, wide and deep and teeming with life. Near that river was a larger cave, one large enough for him to store more necessities. The cave was further from the water than his current shelter was from the spring, but the advantages outweighed that inconvenience.
The river offered abundant fish he could learn to catch. Animals came to drink at its banks, making hunting easier. Edible plants grew thick along the water's edge. And unlike the tiny spring, the river was large enough to properly bathe in, instead of just splashing cold water on his hands and face.
He'd already moved most of his supplies to the new cave over the past few days. His clay pots, carefully wrapped in grass to prevent breaking. His tools, hard-won through months of practice. His furs and woven cords and the other small things he'd accumulated. The new shelter was ready, and waiting for him to make it home. And the only reason he spent last night in the small cave was because he wanted to come back and take any animals that had been captured by his traps.
Yang stood from his rock and picked up his spear. He took one last drink from the spring, savoring the cold water that had sustained him through the worst days of his life. Then he turned away.
The walk back to his small cave took only fifteen minutes, his daily commute to spring making the path clearer and easier to walk through. Yang crawled inside one final time, gathering the last few items he'd left behind. A half-finished project that might become a basket and a few particularly sharp stone chips he'd saved for making new tools.
He emerged into the morning light and looked at the cave entrance, barely large enough for a child to squeeze through. This place had been his sanctuary when he had nothing. Its small size had protected him, preventing larger predators from entering while he slept. The spring nearby had kept him from dying of thirst.
But Yang wasn't the same desperate, terrified eight-year-old who had crawled into this cave six months ago. He was still eight years old in body, but he'd learned to survive.
Winter was coming. He could feel it in the morning air, see it in the way the leaves were beginning to change color and fall from the trees. He needed the better shelter and storage space the larger cave could provide. Needed the abundance of the river to help him store enough food to survive the cold months ahead.
Yang adjusted the crude pack on his back, making sure everything was secure, then gripped his spear firmly and started walking. He went to the creek and followed it downstream toward the river that would now provide for him.
The forest was wide awake now, birds calling and insects beginning their daily songs. The same forest that had seemed so hostile and deadly six months ago now felt almost familiar. Still dangerous and demanding constant vigilance, but no longer completely foreign.
Yang walked with purpose, his small figure moving confidently between the trees.
Behind him lay the cave that had sheltered him in his most desperate time and ahead lay the river and the new shelter and whatever challenges winter would bring.
But Yang wasn't afraid. He'd survived six months alone in the wilderness as a child with nothing but his wits and a mysterious instinct that had saved his life over and over again. He'd learned to make fire and tools, to hunt and trap.
He'd kept his promise to Grandpa Chen. He'd survived. And he would continue surviving, no matter what came next.
The sound of the river grew louder as Yang walked deeper into the forest, leaving his old life behind and moving toward whatever the future held.
Yang walked steadily through the forest, his spear held firmly in one hand while his other occasionally brushed against trees for balance. The path to his new shelter had become familiar over the past few days of moving supplies back and forth.
His legs had grown stronger from all the walking with his body adapting to the constant physical demands of surviving alone in a forest.
He knew this route well now. Each landmark brought him closer to what would be his home through the coming winter.
As he walked, Yang's thoughts drifted to Grandpa Chen as they often did during these long journeys. It still ached like a wound that refused to heal, a constant emptiness in his chest that no amount of time seemed to diminish. But Yang had learned not to let the grief consume him. Instead, he used it to fuel his determination.
He chose to remember Grandpa's lessons rather than dwell on his death. The patient way Grandpa had shown him which plants were safe to eat near the village. How to start a fire properly. Which direction water flowed. Small pieces of knowledge that had seemed unimportant at the time but had saved Yang's life over and over these past six months.
Most of all, Yang remembered Grandpa's stories about his future. At the time, Yang had thought they were just games, harmless fantasies the old man spun to pass long winter evenings. But now he understood the truth. Grandpa had been comforting himself with those stories, creating futures for Yang that he knew he would never live to see.
In some stories Yang became a great general, leading armies to victory. In others he was a wealthy merchant with ships and warehouses full of goods. Sometimes Grandpa would get particularly imaginative and declare that Yang would become a scholar, reading and writing important documents for powerful people.
Yang smiled slightly at that particular memory. How amusing. How could an illiterate boy ever become a scholar? Grandpa himself couldn't read or write. Neither could anyone else in their poor village. Who would have taught Yang letters when no one around him even knew them?
From the fragmented memories of his previous life, Yang knew the language he had once spoken, read, and written was completely different from the language spoken here. The sounds were different, the grammar was different, and unless this world used the same script, which he strongly doubted, he wouldn't even recognize a single letter.
Yang jumped over some large roots that crossed the path, his movements practiced and efficient. As he landed, he noticed a hole in a nearby tree trunk at about head height. He'd learned with experience that squirrels often stored their winter supplies in such places.
Yang approached and peered inside. Sure enough, there were nuts and seeds packed carefully into the hollow space. He reached in and took a few handfuls, placing them in the rough satchel he'd woven from plant fibers. He felt a brief pang of guilt about taking from the squirrel's winter stores, but the forest was based on survival of the fittest. You either survived or you died. The squirrel would have to find more, just as Yang did every day.
He kept a handful of nuts in his palm and continued walking, munching on them as he went. Many hours had passed since he'd eaten the fruit for breakfast, and his stomach was beginning to complain again. The nuts were small but filling, and he savored each one.
The sound of the river grew steadily louder as Yang walked, the rushing water audible even through the dense trees. His footsteps quickened unconsciously. He was tired and wanted to rest. The sun would set soon, and he needed to be safely inside before darkness fell completely.
Living in the forest had restructured his entire sense of time. His day began with the sunrise and ended when the sun set. There was no point staying awake after dark when he couldn't see to work or gather food. Winter's approach had made the days considerably shorter, which meant less time for everything he needed to accomplish.
Yang had high hopes for this new shelter. The river meant fish, a food source he hadn't been able to access at his old cave. Fish would provide reliable protein even when his traps caught nothing and foraging yielded little.
The sun had almost disappeared below the horizon now, and the moon had already risen to take its place. Darkness would arrive in minutes. Yang hurried his pace, his feet finding the path automatically even as shadows deepened around him.
Finally, he spotted the cave entrance through the trees. Relief flooded through him.
The entrance was naturally larger than his previous cave, which had presented both opportunity and danger. A larger opening meant easier access for Yang but also easier access for predators. So he'd spent days lugging large logs and rocks to partially close it off, reducing the entrance to a narrow passage that only something his size or smaller could squeeze through comfortably.
Yang slipped inside and immediately turned to close the entrance behind him. He'd placed several logs and a large flat rock just inside for this exact purpose. The incident with the snake had taught him the importance of securing his shelter. He'd killed the snake easily enough, but what if it had been something more dangerous? Something faster and more aggressive?
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Better to be safe.
Once the entrance was blocked, Yang turned to survey his new home. The cave was much larger than his previous shelter, with several distinct areas he'd mentally designated as rooms. One section near the back was dedicated entirely to dry wood. He had no idea how much colder the forest would get during winter. The winters had already been difficult to bear in the village, even with Grandpa's care.
Yang remembered those cold nights clearly. Grandpa would hold him in his arms and sleep near the fire, positioning Yang closer to the flames so he could be warmer. Grandpa would be on Yang's other side, using his own body heat to keep the him warm despite the chill seeping through their thin mud walls.
Those memories still hurt, but Yang pushed the pain aside and focused on his present situation.
On one side of the cave, he'd created his sleeping area. Thick bark and dried plant fibers covered the floor to provide insulation from the cold stone. A few furs had been sewn together into a small blanket. If he slept curled up, the blanket could cover him completely. But most of the furs he'd collected had gone into clothing and a pair of shoes. He knew keeping his feet warm was essential to prevent frostbite. He couldn't spend the entire winter in the cave. He'd need to go out and try to hunt, and regularly check his traps, and forage for food.
Near the sleeping area was the fire pit, a circle of stones where he would cook and keep fire burning for warmth through the cold nights ahead.
On the bed lay his latest project. A bow. Yang was too scared to approach larger animals with just his spear, but a long-range weapon might allow him to hunt bigger prey. This was his newest prototype and the best one so far. He only had a few arrows made, but if this bow worked properly, he could start producing more.
Yang walked to the clay pot he kept filled with water and scooped out a cupful with the clay drinking vessel he'd made. He drank two cups in quick succession, his body desperate for hydration after the long walk. He couldn't carry the large water pot back and forth on his trips. It was too big and heavy, especially when filled. But being near the river meant he could refill it easily whenever needed.
He really needed to hunt a larger animal soon. He knew their bladders could be used to make water skins, which would let him carry water on longer trips away from the cave. But there was time for that. Now that he didn't have to travel far looking for food every single day, he could spend more time in the cave working on improving his weapons and tools.
Yang took a dried vegetable from one of his storage baskets. He'd learned to preserve vegetables by cutting them into strips and drying them in the sun. They lasted much longer that way. He took one piece and cut it into smaller sections, then placed them in an earthen pot along with a few cups of water and a couple of fresh herbs from the smaller basket where he kept recently gathered plants.
He placed the pot near the fire pit to let everything soak while he built the fire. Starting fires had become routine now, almost automatic. His hands moved through the familiar motions of arranging kindling, creating friction, coaxing the ember to life, and feeding it until flames flared in the stone circle.
Once the fire burned steadily, Yang placed the pot carefully on flat stones positioned over the flames. The water would heat slowly, the vegetables would soften, and the herbs would release their flavor. Simple food, but it would fill his stomach and provide warmth.
While the soup simmered, Yang sat on his bed and picked up the bow. It had taken so many failed attempts to find the right wood. Most types he'd tried either snapped immediately or refused to bend properly. But eventually, through exhausting trial and error, he'd found a wood that had the right combination of flexibility and strength.
The string was made from animal sinew, carefully processed and braided. The arrowheads came from bones of animals caught in his traps, patiently shaped and sharpened. Feathers for fletching had been the easiest component. The forest floor and low branches often held a variety of fallen feathers, and Yang simply selected the most suitable ones.
He fiddled with the bow now, making small adjustments where he could. Checking the tension of the string. Examining the curve of the wood. Looking for any weaknesses that might cause it to fail at a critical moment.
Every few minutes he checked the pot, watching as the water began to bubble and steam rose from its surface. The smell of cooking vegetables slowly filled the cave, mixing with the woodsmoke in a way that reminded Yang of better times.
Once he started smelling the full aroma of the cooked soup, the herbs releasing their scent into the air, Yang set the bow aside. He took a clay bowl and carefully scooped soup from the pot. The hot liquid warmed his hands through the clay, and he had to wait a moment before bringing it to his lips.
It tasted delicious. Yang knew his standards had dropped dramatically. After months in the forest and years living in a simple village before that, anything warm and filling seemed wonderful. Once upon a time, in that previous life he would have found such fare inedible. But poverty in this life and his previous one meant vastly different things.
In his old world, being poor meant cheap food that still came in packages. It meant struggling to pay bills but still having electricity and running water. Here, poverty meant eating whatever you could find or catch or grow, and counting yourself lucky if you didn't starve.
Yang ate his fill, savoring every mouthful. When he finished, he saw that a little soup remained in the pot. He decided to save it for breakfast tomorrow. No point wasting good food, and having something already prepared would let him start the day more quickly.
He drank another bowl of water, then moved to his sleeping area. His body was exhausted from the long walk and the constant physical effort that survival demanded. Tomorrow would bring new challenges. More foraging, checking his traps, maybe testing the bow if he could work up the courage.
But for now, Yang was safe.
He curled up on his bark and fiber bed, pulling the small fur blanket over himself. The fire crackled softly in its pit, sending dancing shadows across the cave walls. Warmth radiated through the space, pushing back the autumn chill.
Yang's eyes closed almost immediately. His last conscious thought was a simple acknowledgment of another day survived.
Yang felt a surge of triumph as he pulled his net from the river, fish thrashing in the woven plant fibers. It had been many days since he'd moved to the new cave near the river, and this was the third time he'd succeeded in catching fish. The accomplishment still felt fresh and satisfying.
Spear fishing hadn't been as easy as he'd thought. Standing in the cold water, trying to stab at the quick, silvery shapes darting past had resulted in nothing but frustration and wasted time. He couldn't catch the slippery creatures with his bare hands either. They were too fast and unpredictable for him.
So he'd made a net using plant fibers, painstakingly twisting and knotting them together. It had taken several failed attempts before he managed to create something functional, and even then he'd had to experiment with different ways of casting it to actually catch anything. But eventually he'd figured it out, and now fish were a regular part of his diet alongside the foraged plants and trapped animals.
Yang dislodged the fish from the net and added them to a basket he'd woven from thin branches. Six fish today. A good catch. He carried the basket to a relatively flat rock by the river's edge and began the familiar process of preparing them.
Scaling came first, scraping away the small protective plates with his stone knife. Then he cut open their bellies and removed the guts, tossing the innards back into the river where they'd be eaten by other creatures. After so many times performing this task, his movements had become efficient and practiced. Finally, he cut each fish butterfly style, opening them flat so they had a larger surface area and would dry more quickly.
He gave them a final wash in the cold river water, then carried the basket back to his cave.
Inside, he'd strung up something like a clothesline using braided plant fiber cord. Fish from previous days already hung there, slowly drying in the cave's air. Yang added today's catch to the line, spacing them carefully so air could circulate around each one. He was drying fish as a precaution for winter, storing up food. He'd seen villagers perform this task before and was fairly certain it would work, though he couldn't guarantee the taste would be pleasant.
Yang went about the rest of his daily tasks with a sense of contentment he hadn't felt in months. His days had been much better since moving to the new cave. He went to bed with a full belly now, something that had been rare at his old shelter. This area was more abundant with animals, and he was catching something in almost all his traps. He ate his fill and dried the rest, utilizing every part. Bones, fur, sinew. Nothing went to waste.
The cave hadn't been smelling the most pleasant lately. Apart from the fish, there was also meat from different animals drying on racks he'd constructed. Animal pelts hung from the walls, slowly curing. The combined smell was thick and pungent. But despite the odor, Yang had been the cleanest he'd been since entering the forest. The river allowed him to bathe easily, and he'd almost learned to ignore the shock of the cool water against his skin.
He'd also managed to improve his bow significantly. Now he practiced his marksmanship daily with targets he'd made from bundled dry grass. His accuracy had improved considerably. He'd tried a couple of times to shoot birds sitting on branches, hoping to bring one down, but so far he hadn't succeeded. He believed that was because of their small size. If it were a larger ground animal, he felt confident he could hit it. He knew his bow and arrows were well made. When he shot at trees, the arrows pierced the bark and stuck firmly, unlike his initial attempts where they'd simply bounced off the surface.
Yang took his bow and a handful of arrows and left the cave. Since he'd gotten the hang of fishing, his mornings were free earlier than they used to be. Food wasn't the desperate concern it had been. He wanted to try his hand at hunting. He'd rather learn on his own terms than be forced to try and fail when suddenly confronted with a dangerous beast.
It was inevitable that he would face dangerous animals while living in the forest. He'd been lucky so far that his inner instinct had protected and warned him. Maybe without it, he would have been dead that first night.
Since moving to the new cave, Yang had found himself with much more time to think, which had become uncomfortable. So far he'd been living day to day, survival his only aim, gathering enough food to make it through each twenty-four hours. But here, with life easier, he had spare time for thoughts he'd been too busy to consider before.
He was surviving. But he felt stuck.
Would he spend his whole second life living in the forest like a wild man? What would such isolation do to him? Yang realized it had been more than half a year since he'd even spoken aloud. He was scared he would become something inhuman, something that could never fit back into society ever again.
He didn't know where to go from here. His life had been about survival since Grandpa died, but now that he was surviving, what was living?
This was nothing like he'd ever imagined his life would be. Nothing like Grandpa would have hoped for. Often after finishing his daily tasks, Yang found himself sitting in front of the fire, staring at the dancing flames, lost in thought. But if someone asked what he was thinking, he wouldn't have a single coherent answer. He just got lost watching the fire move, the flares each one different, the shifting shades of orange and yellow and red.
Yang wondered if he would go crazy living here alone in the forest.
He walked quietly through the trees, lost in his musings, bow in one hand and spear in the other. Suddenly he felt a tug, a gentle pull toward his left. His inner instinct guiding him.
Yang had become in tune enough with the presence that he immediately slowed his breathing and lightened his steps. The instinct was pointing him toward something, and he believed it would be an animal. They'd become more familiar with each other's intentions over the months. The presence had learned to point toward things Yang was seeking, and Yang had learned to understand what it meant.
He moved sneakily toward where he believed the animal was, getting as close as he could while staying hidden behind trees and bushes. Finally, he spotted it.
An animal he'd never seen before. It stood almost up to his waist, which considering he was in a child's body meant it was relatively small. It had long legs, light brown fur, horns on its head, and a long tail that curled on the ground. Its body was shaped a bit like a goat. It was digging and eating roots near the base of a tree.
Yang was surprised. He hadn't seen anything like this in the village. Hunters often brought in a wide variety of animals from the forest, and children would rush to see the dead beasts. Yang was among those children, he had always found it fascinating to look at animals he'd never encountered before. But the hunters had never brought anything like this creature.
Yang quietly took out an arrow and notched it on the string. He aimed at the creature's belly, the largest target area. He wasn't sure he could succeed if he tried for the neck. He drew back the string and let the arrow fly.
It hit. The goat-like creature let out a weird growl-like cry and stumbled. Yang quickly notched another arrow, moved closer, and this time aimed for the neck. Since the creature was already down and he was much nearer, the arrow hit its mark. Blood began pouring from the wound.
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Yang drew his stone knife from his waist and approached to quickly slit the animal's throat so it would die without suffering. He was just reaching forward when suddenly, at its last strength, the goat raised its head and tossed a fist-sized ball of fire directly at Yang's head.
His inner instinct screamed. Yang lunged to the side instantly, his body moving before his mind could process what was happening. The fireball missed him by inches and slammed into a tree behind him, leaving a smoking hole the size of the projectile burned completely through the trunk.
Yang scrambled backward and dove behind a large rock. He pressed his back against the stone, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might burst from his chest.
What just happened?
Was it a hallucination? His whole understanding of the world had changed in a single moment. He was pretty sure there had been no animals capable of this in his previous world. And he'd never seen any animal capable of such things here either. He'd seen many animals living so close to the forest edge, but never had he witnessed any of them with the power to throw fireballs.
He'd heard stories in the village about immortals and magical beasts, but he'd thought they were all folk tales. After all, their village was small and unconnected. It was only natural for such people to be superstitious. But this was making him question everything.
Yang was also starting to believe this world was fundamentally different from his past world. Not just behind it in time and technology, but different at a fundamental level. Because no normal animal could throw fireballs with their mouths.
He was still in shock, his thoughts racing in chaotic circles. He peeked from behind the rock to see if the goat was dead. He didn't know how long he'd been having his breakdown. Yang took another arrow and shot it at the beast to make sure it was truly dead. The animal didn't move or make any sound.
Cautiously, Yang approached. This time he made sure to come from behind its back, giving it no angle to attack him even if it was somehow still alive.
He reached the creature and quickly knelt, using his stone knife to slit the goat's throat completely. Blood poured out, confirming it was dead. Yang felt relief wash through him. If he'd had his axe with him, he would have beheaded the goat entirely to ensure it was completely dead. He wasn't taking chances with a fireball spitting goat.
Yang grabbed the goat's carcass by the hind legs and started dragging it toward the river. He was calling it a goat for lack of a better word. He wanted to butcher it by the water because he didn't want a mess in his cave. Any animals he caught in his traps were always prepared near the riverside.
It took considerable effort, but he finally reached the river and dropped the legs as he arrived at the edge. Yang used his knife to first remove the fur. This was the largest animal he'd caught so far, and the thick fur would be immensely helpful in winter.
He didn't feel any danger at the thought of eating the goat's meat, so he started butchering. The inner instinct would have warned him if the flesh was poisonous or dangerous. He had to return to his cave once to get a basket and his axe because the knife wasn't strong enough to cut through the bones.
It was almost sunset by the time he'd completely butchered the animal. Yang was examining the skull, trying to find out what had caused a mammal to throw a fireball. This defied everything he thought he knew about the natural world.
He removed the brain, tongue, and everything else from the skull cavity. Suddenly, behind the forehead bone, he found something. A small crystal or gemstone. It glowed faintly with an inner light.
Yang's instincts suddenly flared and sent a thought and he dropped the stone in shock, his fingers releasing it as if it had burned him.
The crystal landed on the rock with a small clink, still glowing softly in the fading daylight. Yang stared at it, his mind racing.
What was this? Was this what had allowed the goat to produce fire?
Yang sat frozen by the river's edge, staring at the small crystal that had fallen from his fingers. The sun painted the sky in shades of orange and red, colors that reminded him too much of the fireball that had nearly killed him.
Eat it.
The instinct was telling him to actually eat the stone. He knew that's what it meant, and could feel the intention as clearly as if someone had spoken the words aloud. But he was just shocked at the vehemence behind the command.
The urgency.
The inner instinct had never told him to eat something before. It guided him toward what he wanted, warned him against what was dangerous, but it had never actively pushed him to consume anything.
This was completely new territory.
Yang kept getting shocks today. First the fireball throwing goat, now this.
Normally the instinct just guided and warned, passive in its protection. But this was the first time it had actually pushed him toward doing a task he had no interest in, wasn't even aware he should be doing.
He didn't think the instinct was trying to put him in danger. He knew that much with absolute certainty. If it wanted to harm him, it had already had countless opportunities over the past six months. On the contrary, the only reason he'd survived so far was because of the instinct's warnings. It had saved his life more times than he could count.
Yang picked up the stone carefully, examining it in the fading light. It was small, about the size of his fingernail, with a faint glow that seemed to pulse from within. He made a decision to eat it once he'd looked at it properly, after studying it a bit more.
Maybe he could figure out what it was first.
The instincts made themselves more urgent.
Eat it.
Now.
Eat it.
Eat it.
Eat it Now.
NOW
Yang was surprised again by the intensity, but he trusted the instinct with everything. It had never led him astray. He stood up from the rock, the crystal clutched in his palm, and began walking back to his cave. The butchered goat lay forgotten on the riverside, walking back to safety of the cave was the best he could bear with the instincts constantly blaring inside him. Anything else he could deal with later.
But right now, his instincts were urging him to hurry and he didn't have it in him to ignore them.
He entered the cave and sat down on his bedding, looking at the stone in his hand. The instinct urged him continuously, more urgently with each passing second. The pressure was almost physical, like someone pushing at his back, trying to force him forward.
Yang decided to stop hesitating. He took the stone and placed it in his mouth. It felt smooth against his tongue, and slightly warm.
He swallowed it.
And instantly regretted it.
As soon as the crystal passed down his throat, Yang felt like he'd drunk boiling water. Liquid fire slid down his esophagus, melting his insides as it descended. He fell from his sitting position and curled up on the cave floor, his body convulsing in agony like he'd never felt before.
Not even when the mirror had shattered him in his previous life. Not even during those desperate first weeks in the forest. Nothing compared to this.
His throat was already seared, the tissues burned, and he couldn't even make a sound. His vocal cords wouldn't work. All he could do was curl tighter and tighter, trying to contain the pain that was consuming him from the inside out.
The liquid heat was spreading throughout his whole body now. Yang could feel it branching out from his stomach like rivers of molten metal flowing through his veins. It reached his arms, his legs, his fingers and toes. Every cell felt like it was being set on fire and being destroyed.
The heat was almost spilling out of all his orifices. His eyes watered uncontrollably. His nose ran. Blood trickled from his ears. But the worst was the feeling in his core, where the crystal had dissolved into pure burning energy that was tearing him apart from within.
Yang's vision went white, then black, then white again. He couldn't think. Couldn't process anything beyond the overwhelming agony consuming every part of his being. His small body shook violently on the cave floor, limbs jerking without his control.
Thankfully, it looked like the end was near. Yang could feel his consciousness slipping away, his mind unable to sustain awareness under such torture. As he lost his grip on the waking world, he had no thoughts left but one desperate plea.
Please, whatever entity exists, let me die, let me die. Let this agony end.
The darkness rushed up to meet him, and Yang welcomed it like an old friend. Anything was better than this burning hell his body had become.
His eyes closed. His breathing became shallow and erratic. The small cave was silent except for the occasional whimper that escaped his damaged throat.
Yang woke to the loud chorus of birds and bright sunlight streaming through the cave entrance. His eyes opened slowly, confusion flooding through him immediately. The sun was already high in the sky, well past dawn. He never slept past dawn anymore. His body had been trained by months of survival to wake with the first light, to make use of every precious hour of daylight.
He sat up quickly, then froze.
He was lying on the cave floor several feet away from his bedding. The fur blanket still lay on his sleeping area, undisturbed and neatly arranged exactly as he'd left it after waking up yesterday. Yang stared at it in confusion. He didn't move in his sleep. He'd always been a still sleeper, even as a child in this life. Grandpa Chen used to joke that Yang slept like a stone, that you could stack things on him and he wouldn't shift an inch all night, so how did he end up on the floor?
As Yang stood, he noticed something felt different. His body felt lighter somehow. Not weaker, the opposite actually. It was like he'd been carrying a heavy pack for months and someone had just lifted it off his shoulders without warning. His movements felt effortless, fluid in a way they'd never been before.
He flexed his fingers experimentally. Even that small motion felt strange, more controlled and more precise than before. Like his body was responding faster to his thoughts, the gap between intention and action somehow shortened.
Then the memories crashed back like a wave of ice water. The crystal. The burning. The liquid fire spreading through his veins. The agony that had felt like it would tear him apart from the inside out.
Yang's hands flew to his throat, expecting it to be raw and damaged from the searing pain. But there was no pain. Nothing at all. He swallowed carefully, testing. Still nothing. No soreness, no difficulty breathing or swallowing. He touched his ears where he clearly remembered blood trickling out and found only dried blood flakes that crumbled away under his fingers.
How long had he been unconscious? A day? More?
Confused and wary, Yang went through his normal morning routine, but everything felt wrong in ways he couldn't quite process.
He picked up his water pot to take a drink. The pot usually required both hands and a good amount of effort to lift when full. This time Yang grabbed it with one hand without thinking, and it came up easily, as light as if it were empty. Water sloshed dangerously close to the rim from the sudden movement.
Yang set it down carefully, staring at his hand like it belonged to someone else. He ignored the weirdness for now.
He needed to relieve himself. Yang stepped outside the cave entrance and walked a short distance into the forest. On his way, he accidentally kicked a stone that was in his path. He'd meant to just nudge it aside with his foot. Instead, the stone went flying into the forest like he'd punted it with all his strength. It cracked loudly against a distant tree trunk with enough force to make a thunk sound.
Yang stood frozen, staring at the tree where the stone had hit. That tree was at least thirty paces away. He hadn't kicked the stone that hard. Had he?
After finishing his business, Yang made his way to the river to wash his face as he did every morning. He cupped water in his hands and brought it up, but he misjudged the force. Water splashed everywhere, soaking his face and chest and even his hair. He tried again, more carefully this time, but still couldn't seem to calibrate his strength properly. It was like his body had changed overnight and his mind hadn't caught up yet to how much force different actions required.
Yang was both excited and frightened. This wasn't normal. This should be impossible.
He sat down heavily by the river's edge, staring at his hands like they held answers he couldn't quite read. The goat carcass from yesterday was gone, probably scavenged by some beast who must have been all too happy to get a free meal delivered right to the riverside. Yang felt a pang of regret at the lost meat. That would have been days of food, and he'd just left it lying there while he passed out in his cave.
But then his thoughts turned to the creature itself. A beast that could throw fire. A crystal in its head. And now Yang was stronger, unnaturally stronger, after consuming that crystal.
The thought felt familiar somehow. Not from this life, but from before. From that hazy previous existence he could only remember in fragments.
Then it hit him like a lightning bolt, so sudden and clear that he gasped aloud.
In his previous life, he'd read web novels. During breaks at work, or maybe during boring college lectures. His memories were fuzzy about the details, but he remembered the stories clearly enough. Stories about people in ancient China-like worlds who could fly through the air, shoot energy beams from their palms, and grow stronger by absorbing cores from magical beasts they killed.
"Beast cores," Yang whispered aloud, his voice cracking from disuse and shock. The words felt right in his mouth, like a key fitting into a lock he hadn't known existed.
Yang's entire understanding of reality shattered and reformed in that single moment.
He'd thought he was just reborn as a peasant in a medieval world. A world behind his previous one in technology and advancement, but still fundamentally similar. Just humans trying to survive, no different from any other time in history.
He'd thought the fireball goat was a strange anomaly. Maybe a rare animal with unusual abilities. Something explainable if he just knew enough about this world's natural history.
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But if beast cores were real, if cultivation was real, then everything changed.
This wasn't just a different world. This was a world where humans could become superhuman. Where power existed beyond anything he'd imagined possible. Where the folk tales and legends weren't just stories but actual history.
His mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in a chaotic flood.
Those stories Grandpa told about immortals flying through the sky and living for thousands of years, were they real? Not metaphors or exaggerations, but actual accounts of things that really happened?
The villagers' superstitions about spirits in the forest and magical beasts in the mountains, were they based on actual magic? On real creatures with real power that could kill a normal human without effort?
Could there be entire cities of cultivators somewhere that Yang knew nothing about? Although that wouldn't be a surprise, he realized. He was practically a frog in a well, ignorant of the wider world. His whole village was isolated, too far away from anywhere important to matter to anyone. They were so outside the flow of civilization that they didn't even fear robbers, because coming to such a poor and distant village would be a waste of time and effort. No one in the village had ever left. Yang remembered that clearly. All the villagers were born there, married there, had children there, and died there. Generation after generation in the same small collection of mud huts.
Apart from the occasional merchant caravans that passed through at most once a year, they never got any visitors. And even those merchants were just traveling from one small town to another, not coming from any great cities or centers of power.
Yang felt multiple emotions crashing together inside his chest, each one fighting for dominance.
Excitement surged first. He had power now. Real power. He didn't have to be helpless anymore. He'd lifted that heavy water pot with one hand like it weighed nothing. He'd kicked a stone hard enough to crack a tree trunk thirty paces away. What else could he do with this new strength?
But that excitement crashed almost immediately as realization followed.
If cultivation was real, that meant there were people out there who were monstrously powerful. The fireball goat had been dangerous to him, dangerous enough that it had nearly killed him with its dying attack. And that was just an animal, probably not even a particularly strong one given its size and lack of warning from his inner instincts.
What about actual cultivators? People who'd spent years or decades or even centuries developing their power? What could they do?
Could they level mountains? Destroy entire villages with a wave of their hand? The web novels he'd read had featured characters like that, people so powerful that mortal concerns meant nothing to them.
Yang looked down at his hands again, flexing his fingers and watching the way his tendons moved under his skin. Then he looked at the forest around him, seeing it with new eyes.
The forest that he'd thought he was beginning to understand. The forest that had become almost familiar over the past six months, its dangers known and manageable. That forest had just become infinitely more dangerous in a single moment of understanding.
Because now Yang knew there were beasts with powers out here. Beasts with cores in their heads, cores that could grant strength to whoever consumed them. And if there was one such beast, there had to be others. Stronger ones and more dangerous ones. Creatures that would see an eight-year-old child as nothing more than a convenient snack.
But along with the fear came something else. Hope.
Hope for an opportunity to leave the forest. Because if he could find more cores, grow stronger, develop real strength, then maybe he wouldn't have to spend his entire second life hiding in a cave like an animal.
Maybe he could actually rejoin civilization, make something of himself, honor Grandpa's dreams for his future.
Yang realized he was no longer just a child surviving in the wilderness. He'd stumbled into a world of cultivation, and he'd done it in the worst possible way. Alone, untrained, with no teacher to guide him and no idea what he was doing. He'd eaten a beast core without knowing what it was, without any preparation or technique just trusting the unknown feeling that guided him from within. He could have died. He probably should have died, given the agony he'd experienced.
But he hadn't died. He'd survived. And now he was stronger for it.
Yang stood up from the riverside, his decision crystallizing in his mind with sudden clarity.
He needed to figure out what the crystal had done to him. He needed to understand his new strength, learn its limits and capabilities. Test himself carefully to avoid accidentally hurting himself through ignorance.
And most importantly, he needed to know if there were more beast cores he could find.
Because if cultivation was real, and if he wanted to survive in a world with magic and monsters and immortals, then he couldn't stay weak. He couldn't hide in his cave forever, hoping the dangerous things would pass him by.
But more than that, deeper than the practical concerns about survival, Yang felt something else stirring in his chest.
Curiosity. Burning, intense curiosity.
He wanted to know more. Wanted to learn what was out there beyond this forest.
Wanted to see the things this world had to offer. Not for power itself, though power would certainly be useful. But for knowledge. For understanding. For the simple human desire to explore and discover and experience things beyond the narrow confines of his current existence.
He'd been given a second chance at life. A second chance in a world that had magic and wonder and possibilities he'd never imagined. And he'd almost lost it hiding in the forest, just trying to survive one more day.
Yang looked at the river flowing past, carrying water from somewhere upstream to somewhere downstream, connecting distant places he'd never seen. Then he looked at his hands again, these hands that could now lift heavy pots with ease and kick stones like projectiles.
He was eight years old in body. But he had the mind of an adult, the experience of a previous life, and now the beginning of real power.
The forest had taught him to survive. Now it was time for him to learn to live.
Yang turned back toward his cave, his mind already racing with plans. He needed to test his strength properly. Needed to figure out how much stronger he'd become. Needed to prepare for the next stage of his survival, which would now include hunting beasts with cores instead of just trapping rabbits and foxes.
The sun was high overhead, and Yang had wasted half the day unconscious.
His old life in the previous world was gone, lost to fragmented memories. His life with Grandpa was gone, stolen by cruel men with knives. But this life, this second chance in a world of cultivation and magic, this life was just beginning.
And Yang intended to make the most of it.
Yang stood outside his cave, checking his equipment one final time. His bow was slung across his back, a collection of arrows secured in a crude quiver he'd fashioned from woven plant fibers. His stone knife and axe were tied at his waist with leather cord, bouncing slightly against his legs with each movement. And in his hand, he gripped his spear.
He made for a comical sight with all those crudely made weapons hanging from his small body. Yang was aware of how ridiculous he must look, but he shrugged it off. There was no one else here to comment on his appearance, and he'd rather be overprepared than sorry. Even that dying goat had been able to shoot a fireball that could instantly burn a hole clean through the trunk of a tree. Who knew what other types of magical powers these creatures possessed?
Yang thought back to a few days ago when he'd realized he'd slept through more than just a single day after eating the core. The confirmation had come when he'd looked at the fish hanging from his drying line. They looked considerably more dried than they should have been after only one day, their flesh darker and more shriveled than the fresh catches he'd hung the day before his hunt. That observation had sent him into a mild panic. How long had he been unconscious? Two days? Three? More?
After that realization, after understanding that he was living in a cultivation world or at least something similar to it, Yang had spent the following days testing his new abilities. He ran through the forest at full speed, feeling the way his legs carried him faster and longer than before. He jumped, clearing distances and heights that would have been impossible for him just a week ago.
He kicked and threw things, experimenting with his strength to understand its limits.
What he'd discovered was both encouraging and slightly disappointing. While he'd definitely become stronger than before, it wasn't unnaturally so. His physical abilities were still within the realm of what should be possible for a human. Maybe an adult human instead of a child as young as he was, but still within the mortal realm. Nothing superhuman or impossible to explain.
Although his legs were noticeably the strongest part of him. Yang believed that was likely because they were his most exercised and used muscles since entering the forest. He'd spent countless hours walking while looking for food, traveling back and forth from his set traps, searching for water sources, and gathering different plant fibers for his various needs. Weapons, clothes, rope, baskets. It wouldn't be wrong to say he'd used his legs more than any other part of his body since entering the forest.
Maybe the core increased strength proportional to what was already strongest, Yang theorized. That everything gained the same relative improvement, but since his legs were already more developed to begin with, they showed more noticeable enhancement than his other body parts.
Over the past few days, Yang had started actually training. Not just walking and surviving, but deliberate exercise. He ran every morning, pushing himself until his lungs burned. He jumped, trying to clear greater and greater distances. He did pushups and situps, counting each repetition. He did pullups using high tree branches, his small hands gripping the rough bark until they bled.
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He'd also started binding his hands in strips of fabric from his tunic and punching tree trunks, trying to toughen his knuckles and strengthen his arms. He wasn't sure if just practicing this would work, if physical training alone could make him stronger in a world with cultivation. But even if it didn't, he could surely expect improvement if he ate another beast core. And if training did help, then he'd be that much stronger when the next opportunity came.
He'd been practicing his kicking as well, but not on tree trunks. He was strong enough now that kicking them repeatedly would damage the wood, and he didn't want to waste trees or create obvious signs of his presence. Instead, he practiced on boulders near the river. The stones held up well to his strikes, and Yang could feel his technique improving with each session.
Through all this training, he'd kept up his normal survival tasks. Catching fish in his nets, checking and resetting his traps, drying whatever meat remained after he'd eaten his fill each day. Winter was almost here. He could feel the chill in the air now, especially in the mornings and evenings. The days were getting shorter, and the nights colder.
He wanted to find more animals like that goat. Needed to, if he was going to survive winter and grow strong enough to eventually leave the forest.
Yang took his weapons outside the cave and rested the spear against the stone wall so his hands were free. He moved the logs and rocks he used to seal the entrance, positioning them carefully to block access. He didn't want any surprises when he came back. The memory of waking to find a snake in his cave was still fresh enough to make him cautious.
This was his second time going on a deliberate hunt for beasts with cores. The last time had ended in agony, his body wracked with pain as the crystal's energy tore through him. But it had also led to a spark of hope for his future and a glimpse of possibility in a life that had felt increasingly hopeless.
Otherwise, he'd just been surviving with no real path forward, no way to escape the forest or rejoin civilization. Now he had direction. A purpose.
Yang picked up his spear and began walking toward the deeper part of the forest, away from his cave and following the river.
He decided as he walked, that since he'd chosen to walk this path he would keep walking as long as he had the capability to do so. He wouldn't turn back because things got difficult or scary. He wouldn't hide in his cave waiting for life to pass him by.
Grandpa Chen had died to give him a chance at life. He wouldn't waste that gift by cowering in the dark.
As Yang made that silent vow, he felt a strange warmth in his chest. A hum of something that might have been the inner instinct acknowledging his desire and agreeing with him. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking, his mind projecting intention onto a force he still didn't fully understand.
But whether it was real or imagined, Yang felt the warmth settle into his bones like courage crystallizing into something solid and permanent. He tightened his grip on his spear and kept walking, his small figure disappearing into the deeper shadows of the forest where few humans dared to venture.
Behind him, the cave entrance stood sealed and silent.
And ahead of him lay the unknown.
Yang walked deeper into the forest, and with each step, he left behind a little more of his fear and embraced a little more of his determination. The path wouldn't be easy. It might kill him.
But at least it was a path forward, and that was more than he'd had just a week ago.